


One, Two, Three

by intotheruins



Series: Autistic Castiel Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Castiel, Castiel in the Bunker, Established Relationship, Human Castiel, M/M, Season 9, Supportive Dean, Supportive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: Castiel finds ways to bring order to the chaos of humanity... except when he's in Dean's bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt that [enulacampana](https://enulacampana.tumblr.com/) gave me on tumblr: Anything Destiel, especially smut. I told you; basic. I’m very frustrated with my own efforts in this direction. If it’s too basic, and you’d rather work your RuinsBrains a little, I would love to see your autistic version of Cas, interacting with anyone… maybe with Sam, since he’s sort of an empathetic person. :) 
> 
> Set in an alternate season 9 where Castiel remained human and is in the bunker.

One, two, three, _stop._

The blank space he'd created glared. Castiel scowled back, and filled it with another set of three. Now the gap was smaller, just a sliver—the slivers always smiled at him. He ran a finger down one of them, not quite touching, and sighed.

Humanity was confusing. Chaotic. Pressing in, in, _in,_ no more grace to shield him from it. But this, he could control.

“Cas?”

The former angel gathered up three more books from the pile on the table. He frowned; they were the wrong sizes. Didn't matter if the genres matched, or if they were part of a series. They had to be the same _size._

There, that one. Castiel set one of the three down, and snatched up another from further across the table. Yes, that was better. Same thickness, same height. Much better.

He set them back on the shelf. That left only one gap to fill.

“Castiel?”

“Hm?” Castiel tipped his head, and then shook it sharply. “Sorry, yes?”

Sam stepped into view. He leaned back against the shelf, right shoulder obscuring a sliver and set of three. Castiel frowned.

“What're you doing?” Sam asked. His eyes trailed over the books on the table, scattered haphazardly—Castiel needed a mess in order to make it better. “I'm pretty sure I organized these shelves last week.”

“Oh.” Castiel picked up a new book and ran his thumb over the spine. Leather, old, soft. It felt nice. When he set it down again, the sensation didn't stick to his skin like it had when he'd pulled the rotting apple out of the fridge this morning. “Then I believe I've ruined it.”

His stomach tightened a bit as he said it, and his eyes darted away. Concerned? Guilty? He couldn't quite tell. His emotions were difficult enough to understand when he was an angel. As a human, he found it nearly impossible.

“Hey, it's okay,” Sam said. He smiled. Castiel liked Sam's smile. It was large, and it made his skin wrinkle. The wrinkles were friendly, like the slivers. “Why three?”

He touched a set with one long finger. It obscured another sliver, but Castiel decided that was okay. “It just feels good,” he said, shrugging.

“Huh.” Sam didn't stop smiling, so Castiel hoped it wasn't a bad thing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Sam stepped away from the shelves. He trailed fingertips over the same book Castiel had been handling just a moment ago, smile fading into a small, thoughtful frown. “Do you... do anything else like this? Maybe tapping out a rhythm, or humming. Something like that?”

Out of habit, Castiel tilted his head to one side as he thought. Since becoming human, he had the most whimsical thoughts sometimes, and right now he wondered if tipping his head somehow knocked his thoughts loose.

“I do find myself humming sometimes,” Castiel answered. “Usually one note, or a specific song. I find it very soothing. It's something I can control.”

“And this.” Sam swept out an arm to indicate the rearranged shelf. “This is soothing?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” The smile returned, even bigger, but somehow softer around the eyes. “Then you should keep doing it.”

He handed Castiel a new set of three, all the same height and thickness.

Castiel smiled, and closed the last gap.

~

There was one place where Castiel didn't mind the chaos. In fact, he thrived on it.

Outside, Dean Winchester was a roaring engine and classic rock on high volume. He was an easy grip around a familiar gun, a sharp mind, the narrow eyes of a predator. Outside, Dean was a riot of masks and casual insults, and the only real parts of him that showed were details that could be easily blended into the parts that were all for show.

Inside, behind a locked bedroom door and stripped down to nothing, Dean was heat and wide, pleading eyes, pretty words falling from kiss-swollen lips, real words, little shining bits of _Dean_ that had nothing to do with any of his masks.

Sex was a mess, sweat and tangled limbs and getting lost in the way Dean would stare at him like he was terrified Castiel would disappear. But it was a _glorious_ mess, and like the books, Castiel could create the disaster, and slowly put it back into a new order.

Unlike the books, the mess itself was just as wonderful as the reconstruction. Dean broke so sweetly, let Castiel take him apart until he was gasping and begging, fingers always digging too tightly into Castiel's flesh, but he liked that. It stuck to his skin like the slimy sensation of the apple, only it was good. It sank down into his bones and made a home there, a little bit of himself now made up entirely of Dean.

He liked to swallow Dean's cock for the same reason, taught himself to control his gag reflex just so he could take Dean deep and drink him down when he came. But he didn't like Dean's mouth on him there, it was somehow too much. Dean didn't seem to mind. He'd take Castiel in hand, always firm after the first disaster where he'd gripped too lightly, and Castiel had felt as though his skin was attempting to crawl off his body. He'd suck bruises into Castiel's neck, or his jaw—anywhere, really, Castiel was desperately in love with that mouth so long as it wasn't on his cock. And when Castiel came, usually with his face buried in Dean's delightfully soft hair, Dean would gather up as much as he could and lick it from his own hand, just to make Castiel whimper.

Which he did, every time, because now there was a part of Castiel making a home inside Dean, and the symmetry was endlessly pleasing to him.

He let himself mention it one night, mumbled it into Dean's hair just after an orgasm. Dean laughed, and called Castiel weird, and kissed him on the mouth.

“We can probably find some more things for you to break and put back together,” Dean mentioned later, while the sweat cooled and they kicked away the covers just to have an excuse to curl up together. Dean always needed an excuse to cuddle, even one so obviously flimsy as sharing heat. “That's what you meant, right? With the whole reconstruction thing?”

Castiel nodded. His head was ducked down on the pillow so that his lips were pressed against the warmth of Dean's shoulder. “It's soothing,” he said. He put a hand over Dean's heart, already slowing to a nice, steady rhythm. “But you're my favorite thing to reconstruct.”

Dean chuckled. When Castiel lifted his head, he was met with a lopsided smile and confused eyes. He didn't understand, not the way Sam somehow had.

But the wrinkles around his eyes were friendly, so Castiel didn't mind.

 


End file.
